About

Hello world! My name is Patrick Sperry, known in the blogosphere and forums as PatrickS. I am a conservative Libertarian. That means that I am a Constitutional Constructor, Free Marketer, and I blame others well before I will blame America. I believe that gun control is consistently hitting what you intended to hit. I believe that man creates his own problems, not God. I believe that man made problems are repaired through Freedom and Liberty, and that Authoritarianism only creates more problems.

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14 Responses to “About”

Hey Pat .. I saw your link after you commented at my blog at politicalinquirer.com and I stopped by. I’m looking for people to be contributors (we’re a right/libertarian site) and was wondering if you’d be interested. Drop an email at grygas61@newpaltz.edu if you’re interested.

Hey Patrick-
Just stumbled upon you blog and I LOVE it!! I added you to my blogroll on GirlsGuideToGuns.com.
Check it out when you have a few minutes. I’m new and just getting the hang of it. Thanks for being a model blogger!! 🙂
How do I get in touch with you in terms of email?

In the days of the Wild West, there was a young cowboy who wanted more than anything to be the greatest gunfighter in the world. He practiced every minute of his spare time, but he knew that he wasn’t yet first-rate and that there must be something he was doing wrong.

Sitting in a saloon one Saturday night, he recognized an elderly man seated at the bar who had the reputation of being the fastest gun in the West in his day.

The young cowboy took a seat next to the old-timer, bought him a drink, and told him the story of his great ambition.

“Do you think you could give me some tips?” he asked.

The old man looked him up and down and said, “Well, for one thing, you’re wearing your gun too high. Tie the holster a lil’ lower down on your leg.”

“Will that make me a better gunfighter?” asked the young man.

“Sure will,” said the old-timer.

The young man did as he was told, stood up, whipped out his .44 and shot the bow tie off the piano player.

“That’s terrific!” said the cowboy. “Got any more tips for me?”

“Yep,” said the old man. “Cut a notch out of your holster where the hammer hits it. That’ll give you a smoother draw.”

“Will that make me a better gunfighter?” asked the younger man.

“You bet it will,” said the old-timer.

The young man took out his knife, cut the notch, stood up, drew his gun in a blur, then shot a cufflink off the piano player.

“Wow!” said the cowboy. “I’m learnin’ somethin’ here. Got any more tips?”

The old man pointed to a large can in a corner of the saloon. “See that axle grease over there? Coat your gun with it.”

The young man went over to the can and smeared some of the grease on the barrel of his gun.

“No,” said the old-timer, “I mean smear it all over the gun, handle and all.”
“Will that make me a better gunfighter?” asked the young man.

“No,” said the old-timer, “but when Wyatt Earp gets done playin’ the piano, he’s going to shove that gun up your ass and it won’t hurt as much.”

An old prospector shuffled into the town of El Indio, Texas leading an old tired mule.

The old man headed straight for the only saloon in town, to clear his parched throat. He walked up to the saloon and tied his old mule to the hitch rail. As he stood there, brushing some of the dust from his face and clothes, a young gunslinger stepped out of the saloon with a gun in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

The young gunslinger looked at the old man and laughed, saying, “Hey old man, have you ever danced?” The old man looked up at the gunslinger and said, “No, I never did dance… never really wanted to.”
A crowd had gathered as the gunslinger grinned and said, “Well, you old fool, you’re gonna’ dance now,” and started shooting at the old man’s feet. The old prospector, not wanting to get a toe blown off, started hopping around like a flea on a hot skillet.

Everybody was laughing, fit to be tied.
When his last bullet had been fired, the young gunslinger, still laughing, holstered his gun and turned around to go back into the saloon.

The old man turned to his pack mule, pulled out a double-barreled shotgun, and cocked both hammers. The loud clicks carried clearly through the desert air.

The crowd stopped laughing immediately.

The young gunslinger heard the sounds too, and he turned around very slowly.

The silence was almost deafening. The crowd watched as the young gunman stared at the old timer and the large gaping holes of those twin barrels.

The barrels of the shotgun never wavered in the old man’s hands, as he quietly said, “Son, have you ever kissed a mule’s ass?”